Wizard in a world of glass
by ScipioSmith
Summary: Nine year old Harry finds himself in an unfamiliar world, with gleaming palaces and horse drawn carriages. He finds a friend and a guide in a kind young girl named Cinderella, whose life is soon blighted by tragedy. Harry comes to care deeply for Cinderella, but as they grow up his misue of power risks driving away his only friend in the world. Harry/Cinderella/Prince love triangle
1. Farewell to Little Whinging

Farewell to Little Whingeing

Harry woke up with the sun on his face and mud – or what he very much hoped was mud – coating his cheek.

He scrambled up onto his hands and knees, groping for his glasses in a panic, unable to see the strange surroundings in front of him. He could feel…pine needles? Something like that lay under his fingertips as he fumbled, half blind, for the means to see. He found his spectacles…they were exactly where they had been, in relation to him, when he had lain down to sleep the night before.

He was exactly as he had been the night before; Harry soon discovered as he put his glasses on and looked himself up and down. He was still wearing Dudley's cast off clothes – he had been too tired the night before to get changed into his pyjamas – and his glasses were no more broken now than they had been that night. He was unchanged.

Everything else, however, had changed a lot.

He was no longer in the cupboard under the stairs. He wasn't even in Little Whingeing any more, strange as it seemed. He was…he wasn't even sure where he was.

It looked like a garden. A large garden, with flowerbeds as large as Aunt Petunia's kitchen, and fountains surrounded by statues of giant fish and angels and unicorns spouting water out of their mouths. There were pine trees and oak trees and elm trees and birch trees and trees that Harry didn't know the names of. There were dahlias that would have made Aunt Petunia green with envy, there were roses and violets and lilys; there were hedges that would have passed muster even with Uncle Vernon's rigorous standards. Cobblestone pavements, a little muddy and littered with leaves and pine needles, criss-crossed the gardens that stretched as far as Harry could see in all directions, and down the paths people walked. And such people. Men in top hats and frock coats carrying walking canes, women in elaborate dresses that flowed about them. There were a few people dressed worse than Harry was, or just as bad, but even those people in their patched and fraying rags seemed to be energised just by being there. A fire-breather delighted a crowd of children under the shade of a willow tree, while a fat man hawked host pies from behind a stall with steam rising out of it, and the smell wafted over the grass and the flowerbeds to make Harry's mouth water.

It was a pity that he didn't have any money, and even if he had, how did he know that his money would be any good. Where was he?

It was hard to concentrate on questions like that when his stomach was growling aggressively at him, but Harry attempted to focus his mind on those questions. He walked down the path, conscious that people were giving him looks. Whether it was because he was a nine year old boy alone, or because of the way he was dressed he wasn't sure, but he did know that he didn't particularly like their stares. He didn't stare back, but instead let his eyes wander all around him, trying to get some sense, any at all, of where he was. If only he could see something that he recognised.

He let his eyes wander up and down, this way and that…every way, in short, except for actually in front of him as he walked down the path, which mean that the first Harry knew of someone being in his way was when he felt himself collide with someone, who squeaked in surprise as Harry pushed them backwards.

Harry jumped back a little himself, words falling out of his mouth as he stammered his apologies. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't…"

His words trailed off. Sitting in front of him on the path, looking up at him from where he had knocked her down, was a girl. A very pretty girl, with fair skin and golden hair and blue eyes that drew his own into them. She was wearing a blue dress, with puffy sleeves and a frilly white collar and a wide skirt that had, unfortunately, been a little crushed when he knocked her backwards. There was a blue ribbon in her hair, and a blue gemstone brooch pinned in her collar. Beneath her skirt Harry could see white stockings, and a pair of old fashioned boots that looked as strange to him as everything else that everyone here was wearing except him.

She looked about his own age, and she didn't look completely disgusted with him, which was more than could be said about most girls Harry's own age. In fact, though he could have been wrong, Harry thought that she was almost smiling.

"Hello," she said sweetly.

"Um…hello," Harry murmured. "I really am sorry."

He offered her a hand to help her up, and she took his fingers gently in her own and allowed him to pull her upright.

"That's quite alright," she said, smoothing out her skirt. "I thought you were going to stop before you hit me, but then you did look very preoccupied."

"Um, yes," Harry muttered.

She looked at him. Harry looked away, wondering what she expected him to say.

She smiled, which made her eyes sparkle. "You know you really ought to introduce yourself, you know."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "I'm Harry."

"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," she said. "My name is Cinderella." She took her skirt in her fingertips as she curtsied to him, and then held out one small, soft hand towards him.

"Cinderella?" Harry said.

"Yes."

"That's…a pretty name," Harry said. It was unusual, but it was pretty at the same time. Cinderella. It sounded…he liked the way it sounded.

Cinderella chuckled. "I'm glad you think so, Harry. You're not very good at this, are you?"

"Er…"

"You shouldn't leave my hand waiting," Cinderella said, twitching her outstretched hand gently.

"Oh, right," Harry said, taking her hand and shaking it. "Pleased to meet you Cinderella."

Cinderella giggled. "No, silly. You're supposed to-"

"Cinderella!" a man approached the two of them rapidly up the path. He was dressed like the better dressed sorts of people visible around the garden, in a dark suit and waistcoat (Harry realised abruptly that the same could be said of Cinderella) and a black moustache covering his upper lip. Harry did not have the best view of men with moustaches, although he had to admit that this fellow didn't look quite so much like a walrus as Uncle Vernon did. He was, however, looking at Harry with much the same expression of vaguely disdainful suspicion that was familiar to Harry from the eyes of his uncle. He glowered at Harry for a moment, then turned his attention to Cinderella.

"How many times must I tell you not to go wandering off on your own?"

Cinderella bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"So you've said before, and then done it again," Papa said sternly. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"No, Papa."

"Why did you do it?" he demanded.

"I was bored, you were spending so long talking to that man," Cinderella said. "I wanted to see the gardens."

"It is not safe for a girl on her own, Cinderella," Papa said. "What if something had happened to you? Take my hand."

"Yes, Papa," Cinderella said, doing as he commanded. "This is Harry."

Papa looked at Harry again, dark eyes sweeping over him as he stood there in Dudley's hand-me-down jeans (with holes in the knees) and Dudley's overgrown jumper (several sizes too large) and Dudley's old trainers (falling apart) and his thick glasses (broken from the last time Dudley had hit him).

"Charmed," he said shortly, his tone suggesting that he was not charmed at all. "Come, Cinderella."

"Goodbye, Harry," Cinderella said as her father led her away. She waved at him, and Harry waved back, watching her as she and her father walked together down the path between the rose bushes. He watched as she pointed excitedly towards some butterflies that fluttered over her head, and then watched as she glanced back at him.

She smiled. He smiled back. Then she turned away, and soon she was out of sight.

Harry stood there for a moment, rooted like one of the many statues that decorated the garden, pondering the strange, novel feeling that the thought of her caused in him. Then he dismissed it as hunger, and turned away. He had things to do, after all, he had to find out where he was.

He staggered out of the garden and into the street, where he had to leap back to avoid being run over by a horse-drawn cart laden with wooden barrels. So many horses, so many strangely dressed people, so many carts and carriages and not a single car or truck or motorbike in sight. Where was he?

"Er, excuse me," Harry tried to attract the attention of a man in a frock coat and a top hat, but the fellow simply sniffed as she walked on by.

"Um, could you please tell me-" Harry tried to ask a woman in a green dress, but she simply quickened her pace to get away from him faster.

 _Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be right at home here, although Dudley might miss the television,_ Harry thought spitefully, thinking of his aunt and uncle's manners.

He caught sight of an old man in a weathered old greatcoat, hauling a chest on his shoulder. Harry dashed across the road, dodging a black carriage as he did so, as he tried to catch the man's eye. "Excuse me, do you know how I can get to Little Whingeing?"

The old fellow regarded him critically. "Little Whingeing? Where be that then, for I've not heard of it."

"It's in Surrey," Harry said.

"I may have heard of that, but I don't recall it."

"England?" Harry tried.

"England? Ah, you'll be wanting a ship to take you there, boy, unless you're a better swimmer than you look. I imagine one of the wool merchants might take you, if you could pay for passage. Or might be you could work your way across, it's not far. Try the docks," the man walked on. "Good luck to you, lad."

"Um, thanks, I think," Harry muttered, leaning against a nearby wall.

 _I'm definitely not in Little Whingeing any more._

More to the point he wasn't even in England any more. And it certainly didn't look as though he was in 1989.

How had he come to be here, and why? Harry was not a stranger to weird things happening around him, things he couldn't explain: there was the time that he had ended up on top of the roof of the school, there was the time that all his hair had grown back after Aunt Petunia had cut it off. But nothing like this. It wasn't as if he woke up in strange countries in times past every other day.

But it was beginning to look as though, unless he went to sleep tonight and woke up back in the cupboard under the stairs, he wasn't going to making his way back to Number 12 Privet Drive any time soon.

Harry folded his arms and turned his eyes upwards as he considered the pros and cons of that indubitable fact.

Pros:

No Uncle Vernon yelling at him.

No Aunt Petunia sneering at him.

No Dudley beating him up.

No Dudley's friends sticking his head down the toilet.

No more daily round of ostracism at school.

No more having to wear Dudley's old clothes.

No more having to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs.

No more being told that he was jolly lucky that his aunt and uncle had taken him in after his parents died, when practically anywhere would have better than with them.

Cons:

No more clothes to wear.

No more meals to eat.

No place to sleep.

So many times Harry had dreamed of being free, and now he was: with all the uncomfortable realities that come with freedom. He couldn't live on liberty alone.

He had no money, even if he could have spent it here, wherever here was that wasn't England. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing.

But at least he didn't have the Dursleys anymore.

And if his hair could grow back in a single night, perhaps he could get dinner by just being hungry enough? If he could turn up in a different land, in a different place overnight, then who knew what he was capable of? There might be all kinds of things that he could do to get by.

He was momentarily distracted from his thoughts by the rattling of a carriage rolling rapidly down the cobbled streets. It was moving fast, and the clip clop of the hooves of the horses and clattering of the wheels and the cries of the coachman combined to create a cacophony of sounds that beat like a drum on Harry's head and made it impossible for him concentrate, let alone think of any good ideas. He scowled a little, and hoped that he might get some peace to think about things once the coach had gone by, which would not be long considering how fast it was moving.

"Harry!"

Harry looked across the road in time to see Cinderella skip happily out of the gardens. She smiled, and waved to him.

Harry started to smile back, until Cinderella broke away from her father and started to run across the road towards him…right into the path of the oncoming coach.

"Wait, don't!" Harry yelled, at the same time as Cinderella's father also called out to him.

Cinderella noticed the carriage bearing down on her, as inexorably as a train. She gasped, but seemed frozen by fear as it raced towards her.

Harry started to run.

He was too late. He knew that. He was too far away, the coach was too fast, and he wasn't fast enough.

But he couldn't do nothing. He couldn't just watch. Even if there was nothing he could do, he had to try it all the same.

 _I don't know why these things have happened to me, but let it happen now. I don't know how I jumped so high, or why, but whatever it is let it happen now. Let me be fast. Let me be fast enough._

There was a crack like a gun going off and Harry found himself more than halfway across the road already, barrelling into Cinderella at top speed, grabbing her as he leapt out of the way, and bearing her to the ground on the side of the road as the furious coach careened past them both without bothering to stop.

Harry's hands and arms ached from where he had landed on them, he could feel scrapes on his skin where he had skidded on the cobblestones. He was out of breath and panting heavily. Somehow, though, none of that really seemed to matter.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Cinderella's cheeks were red. "Yes, thank you. Harry, I think you saved my life."

"He did, from your own foolishness," her father growled. "What were you thinking?"

Cinderella looked down. "I wasn't. I'm sorry, Papa."

"We will discuss it later," her father said. "Young man, Harry, is it?"

Harry stood up, wiping his hands on his threadbare jeans before helping Cinderella to her feet. "Yes. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"And I am Lord Nicholas Tremaine," he said. "And I owe you my daughter's life. You have my thanks."

Harry hesitated. He didn't say anything, he just stood there. It was not a desire to be rude that held his tongue, but his complete of any idea of what he ought to say next. What did you say to something like that? How could he possibly reply? He couldn't even say thank you because saying thanks to someone who had just thanked you would sound stupid.

So he said the next best thing. "You don't need to thank me."

"Of course he does!" Cinderella said firmly. "And so do I. Thank you for saving me, Harry Potter."

"I should like to reward you, for your bravery," Lord Nicholas said. "And I cannot help but notice that you do not appear in the best condition." He waved one hand to indicate Harry's patched up clothes and lack of shoes. "Are your family in need of assistance?"

"I…I don't have a family," Harry said. "My parents…they're dead."

Cinderella gasped. "Oh, no. Oh, I'm so sorry. Then where do you live?"

"Um…" Harry hesitated. He shrugged. "I, um; well, I…"

"Papa," Cinderella said, looking at her father imploringly.

Lord Nicholas stared down at Harry for a moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Then he nodded.

Cinderella grabbed Harry by the arm, wrapping her own arms around it, making her puffed sleeves rustle as she crushed them squeezing him tight. "That's settled then. You're coming home with us."

"I am?" Harry asked.

"Well we can't let you walk away with nowhere to go, can we? How ungrateful would that be?" Cinderella asked. "You're coming with us, and you can stay as long as you like."

* * *

That evening, Harry sat on top of his bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath him.

Lord Nicholas – who not only looked wealthy, and dressed his daughter to look the same, but also owned a fancy house that would have driven Aunt Petunia mad with jealousy – had set him up in the room at the top of the tower adjoining the main house. It was a long flight of slightly creaky stairs to get up here, but it was more room than he had ever dreamed of living with Dursleys. He was almost certain that Dudley didn't have as much room as this, even when the second bedroom was taken into consideration. It was a long way from the cupboard under the stairs, that was for sure. He could actually spread his legs out here, and the view was nothing to sneeze at either. He could see all the way across the town, all of the houses and everything, all the way to the palace on the other side.

And what a palace. Harry had never seen anything quite like it. He leapt off the bed and walked over to the window, leaning up the windowsill as he stared out of it, that shimmering marble construction, those tall spires piercing the sky.

He was beginning to think that he could like it here. His belly was full, courtesy of a fine meal from the Tremaines. He had a spacious room to live in, a view to look at, and no awful relatives to put up with. And all the things that were most obviously missing from this world were things that he had never enjoyed anyway. The Dursleys had never let him watch television, never taken him anywhere by car, never let him use a computer. He could easily live without things that he had never really lived with.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Harry whirled around to see Cinderella standing in the doorway.

"I didn't hear you coming," Harry murmured. "What's wonderful?"

"The palace, that's what you were looking at, wasn't it?" Cinderella said. "I think it's beautiful."

"Yes, y…I mean, yes it is," Harry said.

"Sometimes I like to look at it and dream about living there," Cinderella said, walking towards her. "Princess Cinderella. Don't you think that sounds lovely?"

 _I think Cinderella on its own sounds lovely enough_ , Harry thought. He said, "Yes, yes I suppose it does."

Cinderella smiled. She looked around his room, "What do you think? Is it all right? I wanted to give you one of the bedrooms downstairs, but papa said that we might need them. I'm not sure what for."

"This is fine," Harry said.

"But it's the attic."

"It's fine," Harry assured her. "It's miles better than the last place I lived."

"Where was that?"

"A cupboard under the stairs," he said.

"Really? Did your parents make you sleep there?" Cinderella gasped.

"No," Harry said. "I don't really remember them. That was my aunt and uncle. They're…they're gone now, I suppose."

"Oh, Harry, that's terrible."

"I got used to it," Harry said. "Though I'll be glad to get used to this instead."

"Well if you need anything just let me know," Cinderella said. "I want you to be happy here."

"Just being here is enough to make me happy," Harry replied. "No one…no one's ever wanted me in their house before. No one's ever wanted me anywhere near them before."

Cinderella stared at him, her blue eyes wide. Then she gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight. Harry gave a half-gasp of surprise, but found he could do nothing else. He didn't move, he didn't speak. He was too stunned to either. He just stood there, feeling the surprising strength of her arms around him, the softness of her hair pressed against his cheek and neck, the feel of her face resting on his shoulder.

"I'm your friend, Harry," Cinderella whispered. "You saved my life, now I'm going to take care of you, all right? Would you like that?"

"Yes," Harry confessed, his voice little more than a whisper itself.

"That's settled then," Cinderella said, as she let him go. She looked into his eyes for a moment. "By the way, Harry, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

Harry frowned. "Eight. I think."

Cinderella giggled. "You think?"

"Well…what day is it?"

"It's the thirty first of July," Cinderella said.

"Oh," Harry murmured. "Then I must be nine."

"You're the same age as me?"

"I suppose I must be," Harry said. "Today's my birthday."

Cinderella smiled. And then she kissed him.

It was nothing really, just a peck on the cheek, but it was enough to turn Harry's back to ice and his legs to jelly.

"Er…what…I…"

"Happy birthday, Harry," Cinderella said. "Goodnight." She turned away, and left the room. He heard her footfalls as she skipped down the stairs.

Harry felt a smile begin to spread across his face. Yes, he thought he might well like it here.

 _Author's Note: So, the idea for this fic came to me at about 4AM on a Sunday morning, after a particularly convivial evening the night before, the idea of Harry, as a child, finding himself in the world of Cinderella, and befriending Cinderella herself. I spent the next day thinking it over, and I liked the idea so much I had to start writing it. I'm afraid that there won't be an explanation of how Harry got there, it just happens to start the story off. Harry will be a little OP in this fic, because a couple of the inspirations for this story are Severus Snape's childhood (particularly his relationship with Lily) and young Tom Riddle, and Harry will be powered up to a little closer their level as a consequence. However because of the nature of the story he won't actually be using his magic all that much, and so hopefully it won't become too noticeable._


	2. Speakers to Beasts

Speakers to Beasts

Harry tossed and turned in his new bed, churning the covers above him like the rolling waves of the sea in the middle of a storm.

" _No! Not Harry, please, I'm begging you!"_

" _Stand aside, you fool! You have no need to die this night."_

" _I won't let you take my son."_

" _Then, mudblood, you will die!" There was a flash of green light, and then there was nothing but laughter, high, cold laughter that surrounded him and assailed him from all direction, chilling him to the bone._

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

The cold laughter was dispelled by a sweet voice, as soft as goose down and as soothing to the ears as the rustling of the leaves in a gentle breeze. Like the wind it blew away the laughter like so much smoke as Harry's eyes snapped open.

His body, he realised after a moment, was covered in sweat. It had stained the sheet above him and the mattress below.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Harry looked around. Blurrily, he could make out the face of Cinderella looking at him. He quickly brushed some strands of black hair out of his eyes and fumbled to put his glasses on, and as he did so sprang instantly into focus.

He had just woken up, but Cinderella looked as though she had been awake and out of bed for quite some time, dressed as she was in a pink dress, with a pink ribbon holding back her carefully brushed hair and tied into a bow almost as big as her head. A pair of polished black shoes with silver buckles on them sat upon her feet

She sat on a stool beside his bed, a soft smile playing across her lips as she crossed her legs – making her dress ride up enough to reveal more of the white stockings covering her legs.

"Good morning," Harry murmured, running one hand through his hair and looking away before she could accuse him of staring at her. Someone, most likely Cinderella, had thrown open the window shutters, so that the sunlight streamed into the tower room. He could see the palace, gleaming white, towering above the city that lay between them. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock," Cinderella said, an undertone of amusement in her voice. "You must have been tired."

"You don't know how long it's been since I've slept in a bed this soft," Harry said.

Cinderella's smile faltered a little. "It's only my old mattress, Harry."

"It still feels great to me," Harry replied.

Cinderella nodded. "What were you dreaming about? When I came in?"

Harry lay back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the beams of the ceiling above him. "Why do you ask?"

"My mother used to say that 'a dream is a wish your heart makes'," Cinderella said. "Maybe I want to find out what you wish for?" She giggled, but then she fell quiet for a moment. "But…if you tell a wish it won't come true, so perhaps you shouldn't tell me after all."

"It's all right," Harry said softly. "It was…more of a nightmare really."

"A nightmare?"

"I have it a lot," Harry said. "There's a woman screaming. A man, I think it's a man, tells her to stand aside, but she won't. Then there's a flash of green light. And then…"

"And then?" Cinderella asked.

Harry sat up, letting the sheet fall down into his lap. "And then he laughs. And that's it. Him laughing. Awful laugh."

Cinderella reached out and put one hand upon his shoulder. "You're safe now, Harry. You do believe that don't you?"

Harry looked into her eyes. "I believe you."

"Good," she said, a moment before she leapt to her feet. "It's time you got up then, don't you think?"

Harry grinned. "Probably."

"Papa's drawing you a bath now, and I brought you up some new clothes to replace those strange things that you had on yesterday," Cinderella said, picking up a pile of clothes from the floor and depositing them at the end of Harry's bed.

Cinderella might call his clothes strange, but to Harry it was the garments that she had placed before him that seemed odd. They were so…dark. There were none of the flashy logos or patterns of bright colour that distinguished Dudley's clothes – by the time they got to Harry, usually the colour had faded from much washing and the logos were well on their way to peeling off completely – while the texture seemed coarser and more rough. Most likely Dudley would have thrown a fit at the mere sight of them, but a quick stolen glance at Cinderella was enough to tell Harry that the people of this strange place in which he'd found himself were no strangers to looking nice. Besides, it wasn't as if he had been setting any trends to begin with, and it would be as well to blend in here if he was going to stay for good.

For good. It wasn't something he'd really thought about last night, but in the morning – what remained of it – it seemed to come home to him in a greater way than it had. Here for good, in this place, in this time, cut off from everything he had known.

He glanced at Cinderella again. Certainly he would rather spend time in her company than with his cousin Dudley.

The comparison was enough to make him snort.

"What's so funny?" Cinderella asked.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Thank you for the clothes." That was another reason to wear them, and possibly the best: Cinderella and her father had given them to him, when they had no obligation to do so. What right, then, did he have to turn his nose up at them? Why would he even consider it?

Something else that Cinderella had said clicked in his mind. "Wait, did you say your father was drawing me a bath?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Cinderella replied with a nod of her head.

Harry frowned. "Your father…the lord?"

"Mm-hmm."

"He doesn't have to do that," Harry said, a touch frantically. "I can do that for myself. I can do his if he'd like."

"You're not our servant, Harry, you're our guest," Cinderella said reproachfully.

"But don't you have any servants?"

"No," Cinderella said simply. "When mama was alive we had a couple, but they're gone now. Papa takes care of everything himself."

"Why?"

"I'm sure he'll tell you, if you ask him," Cinderella said. "You should go downstairs, or the water will get cold."

Harry nodded, and but paused before he got out of bed. "Er, you should probably go downstairs before I get up."

Cinderella smiled slyly. "Why's that, Harry?"

Harry felt his face begin to redden. "Well, um, I don't have, um,"

Cinderella began to laugh, a fact which covering her mouth with one hand did nothing whatsoever to hide. "All right then, Harry, I'll go. I'll see you later."

"I'd like that," he said.

She glanced at him, and stopped laughing long enough to smile. Then her chuckling at his expense resumed, and he could hear it continuing as she went down the stairs.

* * *

"You didn't have to do this yourself, sir," Harry said, his voice trembling somewhat as he settled into the bath tub.

"You are my guest," Lord Nicholas said. "And who else would do it?"

Who indeed? Harry swallowed, and wondered if he dare ask. "I always thought that people as rich as you had servants." Certainly the Dursleys, if they had been able to afford it, would have had an army of servants to tend to their needs; and they would have kept an eye on how many servants other people had and been sure to always have more. He could scarcely imagine the idea of someone rich enough to employ people to take care of him, and yet not employing them.

Lord Nicholas chuckled. "Most do, Harry, I admit. But this was my late wife's home, not mine, and the money was hers, and the title too. After she died…I can do most things that a servant might do well enough, and I decided to save the money so that Cinderella would have something to bring to her marriage, rather than squandering it wastefully. I spend what I must on the right things: good tutors and fine clothes for Cinderella, decent food, repairs to the house, but I do not waste it on indulgences like servants to shine my boots or draw my baths."

Harry nodded. "You're probably quite right."

"Besides," Lord Nicholas said. "This way we can talk, man to man as it were, without my daughter disturbing us."

Harry froze, fearful of what was to come next.

"Yes," he murmured softly. "I suppose we can, sir."

"You saved Cinderella's life yesterday," Lord Nicholas said as she sat down facing Harry, training his brown eyes upon the boy in the bathtub. "I owe you a great deal for that."

Harry smiled nervously. "Anyone would have done the same."

"Perhaps," Lord Nicholas allowed. "And perhaps not. Either way, Cinderella is very taken with you."

"She's very sweet," Harry said quietly.

"Indeed she is," Lord Nicholas said proudly. "Sweet and kind and gentle, just like her mother. I love her for it…and yet at the same time, I do worry that someone will use it to take advantage of her."

The meaning of his words, and the way that he was very close to glaring, could scarcely have been more obvious even to someone who had spent their early years living in a cupboard under the stairs. And yet, Harry felt the fearful anticipation with which he had begun the interview be swept away and replaced by a new feeling of indignation so great that he wanted to bristle at the very notion. His feeling of outrage was as great as it had ever been when he had been accused of causing some improbably happenstance which he couldn't possibly have had anything to do with, as great as he had ever felt when he had been blamed for a fight that Dudley had started, in fact he almost felt that this was worse because he was not only innocent of all wrongdoing, but actually responsible for some good-doing at the same time.

"I'm grateful for you giving me a place to stay last night," Harry said, unable to keep a hot snap out of his voice. "But if that's who you think I am then maybe I shouldn't stay another night. Cinderella has been nice to me. Nicer than anyone has ever been to me before in my whole life. I wouldn't ever betray that, or use it or take advantage of it or anything like that. Never!"

Lord Nicholas stared at him, his expression inscrutable. Then, almost imperceptibly, a smile began to tug at his bushy moustache. "I am glad to hear it."

Harry's eyebrows rose. Yelling at Uncle Vernon would have got him punished twice as badly, not…whatever this was. "You believe me?"

"I suspect that, if you had been trying to abuse my daughter's nature, you would have attempted to smoothly win me over rather than swelling up like an angry toad as you just did," Lord Nicholas said. "I will be watching you, of course, but I do not think I need distrust you, Harry." He stood up. "Oh, and rest assured, if I really thought you meant harm to Cinderella, you would not have stayed one night under my roof."

Harry smirked. "I'm almost glad to hear that, sir."

"Come down into the kitchen when you're dressed," Lord Nicholas said. "It is late, but you should probably have some kind of breakfast, even if it means a late lunch."

* * *

Harry gathered that Cinderella had already eaten, since she had been up a long time before him, but nevertheless still sat in the kitchen, a light in the drab room, watching him eat the bowl of porridge set before him with a fond look upon her face.

Harry kept glancing at her as he ate, the way she kept on looking at him made him suspect that there was something wrong, like he hadn't done his trousers up or something.

He didn't think he'd forgotten that, not least because these trousers didn't have fly on them, just buttons. The Tremaines had dressed him in a crisp white shirt, with a reddish brown waistcoat that he hadn't bothered to do up, and a green kerchief that matched his eyes tied loosely around his collar. His trousers were brown, as were his shoes. Honestly, he felt he looked a bit like a farmer, and he did wonder if the reason Cinderella kept staring at him was because he looked ridiculous in her eyes.

"Is, um, is anything the matter?" he asked.

"No," Cinderella said at once. "I think your new clothes suit you."

"Thank you," Harry said. He paused. "So where are you going today?"

Cinderella frowned ever so slightly. "Going? What do you mean, Harry?"

"Well, the way you're all dressed up I thought you must be going out somewhere with your father," Harry said, finishing off the last of his porridge.

Cinderella snorted. "I'm not going anywhere today, Harry." She placed her hands upon her hips and added, with mock imperiousness in her voice. "And for your information, I always look my best." She smiled. "But it was a compliment, so I'll try to forgive you." She leapt off her seat, and grabbed Harry tightly by the hand. "And now that you're finished, you can come with me."

"Where?" Harry asked in puzzlement.

"Here, of course," Cinderella said. "I'm going to show you around."

And show him she did, dragging him up the stairs and through the corridors and into every room while she told him all about all of it: the music room where she would sing while her father played the piano – Cinderella told him that she was learning the play herself, but she preferred singing, and after hearing her give a few bars Harry agreed that she had a wonderful voice – the library, the dining room where they ate when entertaining guests. She was so full of energy, dashing up and down the corridors so that Harry had to run as well or she would have pulled him over and dragged him along the ground.

The only time when her energy seemed to sap, her enthusiasm replaced by embarrassment, as when Cinderella showed Harry her room. Certainly it was more luxurious than Harry's, with a bigger bed and a dressing table and a varnished wardrobe with pretty dresses peaking out of it, and certainly it was true that Cinderella had nicer things than he did, but Harry didn't feel that that was anything for her to be ashamed of.

"Why not?" Cinderella asked, when Harry told her so. "I mean, you-"

"Have a room that's bigger than yours," Harry said.

"Be serious, Harry," Cinderella said. "You really don't mind? You're really not upset?"

"Why should I be upset?" Harry asked. "What do I have to be upset about? Yes, you have more than me, but everything that I have was yours anyway until you gave it to me." As he said it, he realised that, although he did feel that way, and not a word that he had said to Cinderella was a lie, it was also strange to him that he should feel that way. After all, the same could have been said of the things that he had from the Dursleys, and yet he had never ceased to be resentful of having to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs or sleep in the cupboard or the fact that Dudley had everything while he had nothing.

Perhaps it was the fact that the Dursleys had always insisted that he should be grateful to them, while Cinderella seemed embarrassed by her riches, that made him want to forgive her and hold them to account.

Or maybe it was the fact that she was the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.

Or maybe it was the fact that she was nice to him, when she didn't have to be, when she had no reason to be, that made it impossible to resent her for the things she had that he did not.

That and the things she had were things like dresses that he didn't really want anyway.

"I'm grateful," he said. "I won't ever not be grateful."

Cinderella looked down at her own feet for a moment, but she was smiling when she raised her head again. "Come on!" she cried. "I'll show you the garden next! It's the best part of the house, you'll love it!"

She took him out into the garden, where a fountain bubbled away and the wind rustled through the low hanging leaves of a weeping willow tree. A small pumpkin patch sat on top of a low rise, while flowers bloomed around the edges of the dirt path.

Cinderella ran out ahead of him and twirled in the middle of a path of flowers, her arms outstretched and her dress swirling around her. "Isn't it lovely?"

Before Harry could answer, a pair of bluebirds began to chirrup loudly, flying down out of a nearby tree to fly in circles around Cinderella's head. One of them, still chirping in what Harry could have sworn was an excited tone, perched upon Cinderella's finger, gesturing with its wings in an almost human manner.

Cinderella did not react as though this was strange in the slightest. Instead, she chuckled and began to talk to them. "And a very good morning to you, too. It has been too long, hasn't it? I'd like you both to meet my new friend Harry, he saved my life yesterday and now he's come to stay with me." The birds chirped some more, looking straight at Harry now in a way that he found a little bit unnerving.

"They'd both like to thank you for saving me," Cinderella said.

Harry found himself tilting his head a little as he said, "Are you…are you talking to birds?"

Cinderella's expression instantly became solemn, and the bluebird flew off her finger as she clasped her hands together in front of her, looking even more nervous than when she had shown him the opulence of her room.

"Can you keep a secret, Harry?" she asked. "Can you keep my secret, even from papa?"

Harry nodded. "For you, yes."

Cinderella's uncertain look was lightened by a slight smile upon her face. "I can talk to birds," she said. "And mice, too. I can understand what they're saying as clearly as I can understand you. Papa doesn't believe me, he says that I'm too old to make up stories like that." She pouted a little. "But I'm not making it up and I'm not imagining it. They really do speak to me and I really can understand them. You believe me, don't you?"

Harry found that, as strange as it sounded, he did believe her. Not least because he was no stranger to weird things going on himself, and he knew what it felt like to have no one believe you when you told the truth because the truth you were telling didn't seem to make much sense; besides, her little interaction with the birds just now hadn't seemed staged or rehearsed at all.

"I believe you," he said quietly.

"Oh, I'm so glad," Cinderella cried. "I don't suppose…can you understand them too?"

Harry shook his head. "All I heard was chirping."

Cinderella's expression turned downcast. "Oh. I'd so like a friend who could understand all of my other friends. Still, so long as you believe me then you can still meet them all, and I can tell you what they say. There's all the birds, and then there's the mice too-"

" _Why would you want to talk to mice? What kind of interesting things do vermin have to talk about? You should just eat mice, it's all they're good for."_

Harry looked around. "Who said that?"

"Said what? I didn't hear anything," Cinderella said.

" _I said that, obviously."_

Cinderella let out a half muffled shriek, and ran a few paces away from a nearby rosebush as a mottled green and brown snake slithered out of it, its forked tongue darting out of its mouth. It slid in a circular and sideways fashion towards her. Cinderella retreated in the face of it, but as she walked quickly backwards she tripped over a stone jutting up out of the ground and fell back with a cry of alarm. Her blue eyes went wide with fear as the snake closed in on her.

Harry dashed forward, throwing himself between Cinderella and the slithering serpent. "Back off!"

The snake stared at him. Its yellow eyes gazed, unblinking, into his. It raised its head, tilting it first one way, and then the other. Then, slowly, it gave what almost looked like a bow. _"As you wish, master."_

Harry's breath caught in his throat for a moment. "It was you. You can speak."

It almost sounded as though the snake was laughing at him. _"No, master, you can listen."_

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why do you call me master?"

" _Because we snakes obey those who can speak to us,"_ the serpent said. _"And because it is warmer inside than out, but only a master will let me stay inside out of the cold when winter comes. A master will feed me when I'm hungry, and speak to me when I get bored."_

Harry fought the urge to laugh himself. "So when you say 'master', what you really mean is servant?"

" _Would you rather I bit the girl?"_

Harry snorted. "Try it, and I'll stamp on your head."

" _I could reach her ankle before you could stop me."_

"If you touch her then-"

" _I wouldn't dare, if you were my master,"_ the serpent said slyly.

Harry scowled. "Do I get anything out of this?"

" _Do you think I am a cat, to be ungrateful?"_ the snake asked him. _"I will hunt your enemies, and bite them for you, and keep your dwelling clear of rodents."_

"I think Cinderella likes rodents, and I don't have any enemies."

" _Well that's hardly my problem, is it?"_

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll be your master, but you leave Cinderella alone."

" _But of course."_

"Harry," Cinderella said tremulously. "You're hissing."

Harry glanced at her. "What?"

"You're hissing," Cinderella repeated. "You sound like a snake."

"I suppose that makes sense," Harry murmured. "Seeing as I've been talking to one."

"What?" Cinderella said as she climbed back to her feet. "You're talking to it."

Harry bent down, and let the snake crawl up into the palm of his hand and curl around his arm. "He wants to be my pet."

" _Servant, not pet."_

"Really?"

"Is it any stranger than talking to mice or bluebirds?"

"Not when you say it like that, but," Cinderella hesitated. "It's a snake, Harry."

" _I resent that."_

"He won't hurt you," Harry said, deciding it was best not to mention that he would have done if Harry hadn't agreed to become his master. "He's just hungry, and I think he's lonely, too."

"Oh," Cinderella said, though she still looked suspicious, and a little afraid. "He's not going to eat any of my friends, is he?"

" _Of course I am, they're mice. What else are they good for?"_

"No," Harry said. "He won't."

" _Won't I?"_

"No," Harry said. "I'll feed you something else."

"What did he say?" Cinderella asked.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Never mind."

"So does he have a name?"

" _Not unless you give me one."_

Harry said, "I don't know. I can't think of one."

"Hmm," Cinderella murmured. "How about Ares?"

The serpent hummed contentedly. _"Ares. I like the sound of that. I'm glad I didn't bite her after all."_

"So am I," Harry said.


	3. A Kind of Magic

A Kind of Magic

 _"Feed me, master,"_ Hector hissed. He sat coiled up in the palm of Harry's hand, a slightly slimy presence whose scales rubbed against Harry's skin when he moved. _"Feed me."_

 _"I just fed you,"_ Harry pointed out, injecting only some of the forcefulness into his voice that he would have liked. He would have preferred to have spoken to the snake like Uncle Vernon and told him to stop whinging and get used to it, but then Harry had never been in danger of biting Dudley or Aunt Petunia, and it wouldn't have made any difference if he had. Hector might still decide to harm Cinderella, and Harry couldn't allow that, or risk it in any way. If that meant putting up with the serpent's self-centredness and need for attention then so be it.

 _"I'm still hungry,"_ Hector replied. _"Feed me some more."_

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Harry," Cinderella said, her soft voice hardened a little with a touch of reproach. She sat beneath the weeping willow tree, with her legs crossed and her pink skirt spreading out across the stone bench beneath her. She had her back to Harry, who was sitting against the tree itself, so that he could see the ponytail hanging down her neck and back rather than her face, and see the white sash tied into a bow behind her waist rather than her hands. But he could see her pale arms moving as she stroked the brown puppy that he knew to be in her lap, and he could see the little dog's tail wagging even as he heard it snuffling contentedly.

"Do what?" Harry asked, even though he knew exactly what she talking about.

"Hissing like that," Cinderella replied.

"It's the only way I can speak to him," Harry said.

"I know that, Harry, and I wish you wouldn't," Cinderella murmured. "I mean, it's a snake."

 _"Foolish girl,"_ Hector hissed, as he slithered out of the palm of Harry's hand and began to crawl across the ground towards her. _"I don't think she likes me very much."_

"You talk to birds," Harry pointed out. "And mice."

"I know," Cinderella said. "But that's different."

 _"Yes, it is,"_ Hector said. _"Mice and birds are as insipid as you are. I am glorious and majestic."_ He was getting close to Cinderella now, though she was unaware of his approach. Her legs were crossed and folded underneath the bench on which she sat, with the toe of one of her black shoes resting delicately on the ground. Hector was making straight for it.

 _"Stop that,"_ Harry hissed. To Cinderella he said, "What is the difference?"

"Mice and birds are nice," said Cinderella. "Snakes, well, they're a little bit horrid aren't they?"

 _"Horrid?"_ Hector raged. _"Lies! Slanders! Calumnies!"_ He sprang forward, hissing and spitting with anger, slithering rapidly up Cinderella's foot to wrap himself tightly around her leg, looking like some sort of speckled-banded decoration sewn onto her stockings, his green and brown scales seeming dirty against the white.

Cinderella shrieked in horror. The puppy yelped in surprise as she leapt to her feet, staggering away from the bench as she tried to shake the snake off her leg. "Oh! Get off! Make him get off, Harry!"

Harry rose to his feet. _"Get away from her and get over here, now."_

 _"I'm not going to hurt her, master,"_ Hector said, sounding too pleased with himself as he said. _"Just give her a scare to remember."_

Harry growled. "I said get over here, NOW!"

Harry felt a sudden surge of something within him, a crackling of energy that made his fingers tingle and the hairs on his arm stand on end as his skin erupted in goosebumps. Hector yelped as some invisible force wrenched him off of Cinderella's leg and pulled him through the air into Harry's waiting hand, where Harry's fist encircled his neck and began to squeeze him.

Harry's eyes flashed with anger. _"Never. Do that. Again."_ He was sorely tempted to squeeze the serpent's neck even tighter than he was, and already Hector was almost gasping.

"Harry," Cinderella murmured. Harry's head snapped up, looking from the snake to her at once, and a cold, icy feeling like being dumped in a frozen lake enveloped him at the thought of he might find when he looked into her eyes? Fear? Disgust? Hatred? He had done something unnatural, something freakish; there was no explaining this away as a sudden wind or the side-effect of a growth spurt or any of the other ways that school or Aunt Petunia had explained away the bizarre incidents that had surrounded him. He had wanted Hector in his hand, and the snake had come. He was an abnormal freak and Cinderella, the first person to offer him friendship, would despise him for it. After all, if the Dursleys had taught him anything it was that no one liked a freak.

But, while her blue eyes were wide, the expression on Cinderella's face was not frightened, or angry. There were traces of fear, yes, but they were fading rapidly, the disappearing legacy of Hector's little prank. No, when Harry looked at her he found to his surprise that, mingled with the shock, was an expression he had never expected to see.

She looked awestruck.

"How did you do that, Harry?" she gasped. "That was...like magic."

"There's no such thing as magic," Harry replied, reflexively parotting Uncle Vernon.

Cinderella's eyebrows rose. "Then what was it that you just did and I just saw, Harry?"

Harry didn't reply.

"Who told you there was no such thing as magic?" Cinderella asked. When Harry didn't reply, she continued, "Whoever it was must have been very unhappy to have not believed in magic, or wishes or kindness or...or anything, really."

She wasn't wrong about the low-level discontent under which the Dursleys had laboured, but Harry still said, "But have you ever seen anything like that before? Strange things have happened to me before, but nothing like that. Calling it magic..."

 _"It is what it is."_ Hector hissed. _"All serpents know that there are those with the power to bend the world to their will, just as we know that some among them may speak to us in our language. You have the rarer power, why be shocked that you have the more common, too."_

"What did he say?" Cinderella asked.

"He said that me being able to speak to him is part of me being able to do things like, well, like I just did," Harry said.

 _"Almost. Not all who are of magic can speak to serpents, but none who are not of magic can speak our language."_ Hector preened. _"It is a gift reserved for the most powerful of your kind."_

"I'm sure it is," Harry muttered sarcastically. He looked at Cinderella. "You're not...you're not afraid of me are you?"

Cinderella smiled. "Why on earth would I be scared of you?"

"Because, you know," Harry murmured with a shrug. "I'm not normal."

Cinderella covered her mouth with one hand while she giggled. "I don't think you've ever been normal since I met you, Harry. It doesn't make me like you any less. You may not be normal, but you are good." Her eyes sparkled with excited. "Now, do you want to see what else you can do with your magic?"

What else he could do turned out to be...not as much as Harry might have hoped, honestly. Certainly not as much as he had hoped for in secret, though his confessed expectations had been a mite lower. Having finally discovered, really discovered, with near-incontrovertible proof, that the things had happened to him where his own doing, and not freak occurences, and having found this out with someone who did not flee from him or revile him because of this, but seemed fascinated by what he was able to do, he would have liked to have exhibited on purpose the kind of displays he had pulled off by accident before, if only to impress Cinderella. He would have liked to have leapt up onto the roof of her house, he would have liked to have grown his hair out by a foot (and then shrunk it again, because he didn't want to be stuck with hair that long), he wanted to shrink something and then blow it back up.

But he couldn't. He couldn't do any of it. He couldn't even repeat the trick of summoning Hector into his hand from afar, a fact for which the snake was very thankful. He could make things move without touching them, but weakly at best, and it was only really good for giving Bruno the dog something to chase around the garden. It was not really all he had been hoping for.

"Remember, Harry, most people can't even do that," Cinderella reminded him. "Don't get too upset just because you're not so much better than everyone else."

Harry chuckled at that. "You're right. I suppose I was getting a little greedy, wasn't I?"

 _"There is nothing wrong with ambition, master,"_ Hector hissed. _"Those who can speak to snakes are amongst the elite of your kind, but only if you have the will to seek your greatness."_

 _"I don't need greatness, and I'm not as sure as you that I've got it,"_ Harry replied.

"It's very frustrating that I can't understand you when you do that, you know," Cinderella remarked.

"Right, sorry," Harry said. "Hector was just telling me I should work hard for greatness, and I was telling him that I'm no one special, really."

Cinderella frowned. "I never said that, Harry. I don't think you're no one special."

"But you said-"

"I said don't get disappointed, I didn't say give up," Cinderella said. "If you want to see if you can do more, or get better, then I'll help you. If you don't want to ever talk about this again, then I won't mention it; it's up to you, so long as you're happy. I just don't want to see you upset over something that isn't your fault. But that isn't the same thing as telling you to give up on your dreams."

"My dream?" Harry said. He hesitated for a moment. "I don't know...can something be my dream when I haven't had a chance to sleep on it."

Cinderella shook her head. "This kind of dream doesn't have anything to do with sleeping. Your dream is, well, your dream is your dream. It's what you want. Do you know what you want?"

"Not really," Harry murmured. "I spent so long being told that I couldn't do anything, and wouldn't be anything, that I never gave much thought to what I could do or be."

"The people who told you that aren't here, Harry," Cinderella said. "You're here, and you can do or be whatever you want."

Harry grinned. "I suppose I've got a lot to think about then, haven't I?"

Cinderella nodded. "Everyone should have a dream."

"Do you have one?"

"Yes," Cinderella replied. She clasped her hands together in front of her. "But...I don't want to tell you what it is; you'll think I'm full of myself."

"No I won't," Harry said. "Come on, you have to tell me now."

Cinderella smiled, and scuffed her shoe along the ground, and looked down at her feet, swinging her arms slightly from side to side. "I want to be, well, I suppose you could say that I want to be admired. By everyone. Not all the time but, sometimes I dream about walking into a room, a grand room, like a ballroom…and everyone is looking at me, and they all think I'm lovely." She glanced up at him. "It sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I think it…I think it would get boring after a while, but I can see why you'd want that."

" _I think you are full of yourself,_ " Hector said.

" _Quiet, you."_

* * *

Harry was woken up by the sound of Hector hissing. The snake was coiled upon his chest, head facing the window, darting first this way, and then that, fangs out, a hostile sibilance rising from his throat.

Harry frowned as he noticed that it was still dark outside.

" _What are you doing?"_

" _There's someone in here, master."_

" _If you're frightening Cinderella again-"_

" _No! Not her. Someone else. She came in through the window."_

Harry opened his mouth to tell the serpent how ridiculous that was, considering that they were at the top of a tower, when suddenly he realised that he shouldn't be able to see the stars outside through the shutters. And yet he could see them. Because the window was open. Which it hadn't been when he went to bed.

A slight chill ran down his spine.

"So it's true, you are a parseltongue," a voice said, the voice of a girl, by the sound of it, a little less soft and less sweet than Cinderella's voice but no older by the sound of it. "Mother will be impressed."

Harry's frown deepened. _"Let me up,"_ he hissed to Hector, who slithered off his chest so that Harry could sit up a little in bed. The serpent coiled around his wrist, still hissing, as Harry fumbled for his glasses.

There was the slight sound of someone stepping on the floorboards, and Hector began to look more towards the corner of the room.

" _Can you see her?"_

" _Yes."_

"If you want to see me then you could just ask me to show myself," the girl said, mockery in her voice.

Harry's eyes widened. "You can understand what I'm saying?"

"No, I'm not a parseltongue, unfortunately," the girl said, and there was a touch of wistfulness about the way she said it. "But I must have guessed right about what you were saying, yes? _Lumos_." A light came on, just as if someone had flipped a switch which was bizarre because…there were no light switches here. No electricity, no cars, nothing like that. And yet a light turned on. A light at the tip of a…stick of wood, held lightly in the hands of a girl who, now that Harry could see her, did look about his age, or Cinderella's. Her hair was golden, and fell down her back in curly waves; her eyes were brown and slightly angular as they gazed at him intently. If asked to judge, Harry would have said that she was not as pretty as Cinderella, her face was not so soft, and the smile that she was bestowing on him did not seem so kind, but she wasn't ugly either, far from it. She was the kind of girl who would have hated to be seen anywhere 'that Potter boy' back in Little Whinging, and yet she was the one who had come into his room via the window.

How had she managed that anyway?

She was dressed in a mixture of green and silver, mostly green with silver trim in places, with black stockings and red boots on her feet. She was also wearing a dark green cloak, fastened at the neck with a silver brooch shaped like a serpent.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"The same way you summoned your snake from the muggle's leg," she replied. "Magic."

Harry took a deep breath. "So it is magic, what I can do?"

The girl laughed. "What else did you think it might be?"

"But I can't make light appear," Harry said.

"Not yet you can't," she said. "But in time you will, and so much more."  
"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Cassiopeia Lestrange," she said, as though that ought to have meant something to him. "And you're Harry Potter."

"How did you know that?" Harry demanded. "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you, obviously," Cassiopeia said, rolling her eyes at his stupidity. "Try and keep up, Harry." She smirked. "We don't think that you belong in this world. But, since you're here, we've decided that we're going to help you."

"We?"

"My mother and I," Cassiopeia said. "A couple of my mother's friends, maybe. Come with me, Harry."

"Where?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Somewhere safe," Cassiopeia said. "Somewhere there are others like us."

"I don't know you well enough to say that I'm like you," Harry muttered.

A flash of irritation appeared in Cassiopeia's eyes for a moment. "You'd rather stay here with the muggle?"

"You said that word before," Harry said. "What does it mean?"

"It means someone without magic," Cassiopeia replied. "Someone who isn't a witch or wizard like us."

"It doesn't sound very friendly."

"We're better than them, Harry, why shouldn't we acknowledge that?" Cassiopeia asked.

"I don't think I'm better than Cinderella."

"Because you don't know any better yet, but you will."

"What if I don't want to?" Harry said softly.

Cassiopeia stared at him for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, more concerned. "Please come with me, Harry. Don't you want to learn more about what you are, about what you can do? You don't have to stay, I didn't mean that you should, I'll bring you back here before morning if you want me to. But please, come with me; you can meet my mother, and the rest of us. You can learn something, you can visit as often as you like then come back here. But please come with me.

"The truth is," she said, her lip trembling. "The truth is that if you don't come with me mother will be very upset. She so desperately wanted to meet you. I don't want her to be cross with me."

All the pride had gone out of her, all the mockery too. In it's place was frightened girl, who would have to face her mother's disapproval because Harry had been feeling mulish.

He couldn't let that happen. It wouldn't be right. He got up from the bed. "Okay, I'll come with you. But you promise to bring me back here again?"

Cassiopeia's eyes lit up with relief as she smiled. "Yes, yes I promise, but you'll come with me? You mean it? Oh, thank you, Harry." She grabbed him round the neck as she pulled him into a tight hug. "You have no idea what this will mean for both of us."

"That's okay," Harry said. "But…how will get to…wherever you want to take me."

Cassiopeia smile was pure glee now, all other emotions gone from it. "Get there? Why, the same way I got here, of course." She picked up a broom from the corner of the room. A broom that, now that he thought about it, Harry didn't think belonged there. "Climb on, Harry, we're going flying."


	4. A Discovery of Witches

A Discovery of Witches

Cassiopeia whooped in delight as they flew, the broomstick zooming across the night sky, passing across the face of the moon, zipping through the darkness faster than the stars could see.

"Isn't this amazing?" Cassiopeia yelled, her blond hair flying back behind her, while it was either a miracle or some act of magic that her hat didn't fly off her head and land somewhere on the ground passing rapidly beneath them. "I've always loved flying better than anything else."

"Really?" Harry asked, fighting the chattering of his teeth long enough to get the word out. He himself was not so sure that he would ever get used to it. It was cold, he was having to cling tight to Cassiopeia in order not to plummet the great height to a certain death, the wind and Cassiopeia's hair seemed to be taking it in turns to batter his face.

"You don't like it?" In as much as it was possible to tell Cassiopeia's tone when she yelling to be heard over the rush of air, she seemed surprised.

"Not really," Harry admitted.

Cassiopeia was silent for a moment. And then, without her appearing to do anything, the broom began to slow down. The rushing wind disappeared, the stars ceased streaking as the broom flew by, Cassiopeia's hair stopped hitting him and down down her back. The broom glided along at a sedate, comfortable pace, while the moon and stars looked down on them.

"How about now?"

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"It responds to will," Cassiopeia said. "So what do you think? Look at that moon, Harry, look how big it is from up here."

Harry looked at the moon. It was big. A great silver orb, at least twice its size from seen on the ground, the centrepiece of night, with its court of stars all thronging around it. They were so much brighter here, brighter than he had ever seen before.

"Yeah," Harry murmured. "Yeah, that...that isn't bad."

"No one can touch us up here, Harry," Cassiopeia said wistfully. "No one can tell us what to do, no one can tell us where to go. No one can tell us what we are. That's why I love to fly, Harry: because flying is freedom."

"Flying is also chilly," Harry muttered.

Cassiopeia laughed. "Maybe a little, but it's worth it, don't you think? And you are a little more comfortable now, right."

"A bit."

"Maybe if you stopped holding me like a vase," Cassiopeia said, amusement rich in her voice as she referred to his hands, gripping her sides tightly. "Put your arms around me."

Harry felt his face flush. "Really?"

"Honestly," Cassiopeia sighed, as she pulled his hands and arms into place so that they were entwined around her waist, and he was forced to sit so close to her that he was practically leaning on her.

"There," Cassiopeia said. "More comfortable, yes?"

"This..." Harry hesitated. His eyes took in the night around him, the way that the land underneath looked almost like a model or a toy, the beauty of the night sky, the silence and the isolation...and the feel of Cassiopeia in front of him. "This is nice."

"Yes," Cassiopeia said. "That's it exactly. It's nice."

So they flew that way, slowly and gently and with Harry's arms around her waist, until her broomstick began to descend towards a great old tree, an ancient oak that looked as though it was the sole survivor of some long forgotten forest, grimly clinging on despite the disappearance of all the trees that might have once surrounded it. It towered over the barren heath on which it stood, leafless and lifeless, with massive branches as wide as the tower in which Harry slept, and twigs like the arms of strong men reaching out to grasp at the stars.

There was a crack in front of the tree, a triangular crack taller and, at its height, higher than the door into the Tremaine's chateau, and beyond the crack Harry could see only darkness within.

When the broomstick was about half a foot off the ground, Cassiopeia leapt off, trampling the grass beneath her red-booted feet as she landed with a soft thud. The broom lowered a little more before she offered a hand to help Harry down.

"I hope you didn't mind that too much, because that's how you'll be getting back," Cassiopeia said. "If you decide to go back."

Harry's knees buckled as he landed on the ground. He released her hand as he stood up. "Why wouldn't I want to go back."

"Maybe you'll come early to the truth," Cassiopeia said. "That you belong here, with us."

Harry took a few steps towards the cracked old tree. "It doesn't look as hospitable as a bedroom," he said.

"Hospitable? No, not hospitable at all, is it? At least not to prying eyes," the words were followed by a high-pitched cackling sound, as an old woman, an ancient woman with her back bent and her face so lined with wrinkles it looked to be turning in on itself, leaning heavily upon a stout wooden staff. "But then, why should we want to look hospitable, hmm? Far better to keep unwanted visitors far away, wouldn't you say?"

Harry blinked. "Er...I suppose."

"You suppose? He supposes! Oh, this bitter cold. I would sooner porter in hell than in this cold. Open, in the name of Beelzebub, who's there? A prevaricator! You'll not prevaricate yourself to paradise, you mark my words. Not with magic's mark upon you."

Harry glanced at Cassiopeia, "Um..."

"Don't mind Grandmother, Druella Black to you, I suppose," Cassiopeia said. "She's the Other One."

"The what?"

"You know," Cassiopeia said. "There are always three witches in a coven: the Maiden, the Mother, and the...Other One."

"The Other One?"

"That's what you'll call it if you know what's good for you," snapped Druella. "Come on inside. Your mother waits within." She turned away, her black cloak swishing behind her, and began to stump inside the darkened tree hollow.

Cassiopeia took a few steps forward, half running inside, before she turned back towards Harry. "It's okay, Harry. You'll be safe here."

Harry hesitated. "Your grandmother is…um…"

Cassiopeia giggled. "She won't eat you, Harry. Grandmother only eats muggle children."

Harry's eyes widened. Cassiopeia rolled hers. "It was a joke, Harry. Come on in, it'll be fun." She held out one hand. "I promise, you won't be in any danger. I'll even promise you'll enjoy yourself."

Harry waited a moment, wondering what she would do if he demanded to be taken home this instant. But she had said that her mother would be angry with her if she returned without him. She might be even more angry if she brought this far but wasn't able to make him take the last step. And that was why he'd come, in end, wasn't it? Not because of his magic, not because he was so convinced that he didn't belong with Cinderella…he had come for no better reason than because he didn't want a girl to get into trouble.

So, tentatively but at the same time inevitably, he reached out, and slipped his hand into Cassiopeia's grasp.

She gripped him firmly, as though she were afraid that he would slip through her hands if she didn't keep a tight hold on him, even as a smile lit up her face and made her brown eyes glow.

"You won't regret this, Harry," she said. "We're your people. And sooner or later you'll realise that for yourself." She began to half run, half skip inside the tree hollow, and Harry had no choice but to run to keep up with her as he was pulled further and further into the darkness of the…

…brightly lit and vast room in which he found himself. The hollow of the great tree stump turned out to be a space far too vast to be enclosed in the place he had seen from the outside, a cavernous chamber walled with rough stone, with dozens upon dozens of candles set in the walls and hanging from the ceiling to give the place a homely orange glow. The chamber was shaped like a dome, a dome as vast as an observatory, with a floor that was of yellowing grass, but strewn about with fraying rugs and slightly moth-eaten bear and wolf pelts. The walls were hung with ancient tapestries, showing all kinds of people in clothing even more old fashioned that worn by most people in this place. When Harry looked more closely, it seemed to him to form some kind of family tree, maybe Cassiopeia's family. The tapestries, too, looked as though they had seen better days.

"Welcome, boy, to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," Druella muttered as she stomped away.

Cassiopeia turned to face him, beaming. "What do you think, Harry? Isn't it marvellous?"

"It…" Harry looked up, and all around, his mouth hanging open to catch flies. "How is it…the inside has to be bigger than the outside, doesn't it?"

Cassiopeia chuckled. "Of course it is. It's magic, Harry."

Harry shook his head as he looked down at her. "It's-"

"Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes were drawn towards the source of the voice calling his name, which turned out to come from a raised dais near the back of the chamber. There, standing around a smoking cauldron from which he could hear faint bubbling sounds emerging, stood three women. This surprised Harry, since he had only expected one more (Cassiopeia's mother, since the maiden and the Other One were both accounted for) but there stood three. The one who had spoken to him stood in the centre of the trio, an odd mixture of the elegant and the unkempt, the dishevelled and the stylish. She was dressed in a black gown, with long sleeves that half-concealed her hands, and an equally black corset worn over the top. The gown was elegant and graceful, fitting with the curvature of her body and spilling out around the bottom, he could see as she walked around the cauldron and descended from the dais towards him. But it was also old, and tearing at the hem and shoulders. Her hair was black, save for a single streak of white, but the ringlets were untidy, and some almost looked as though they had leaves in them.

Her cheekbones were sunken, and her lips where full and a deep, deep red, her nose was smallish and her chin was soft, and she had the same brown eyes as Cassiopeia. She smiled as she advanced upon him. "Welcome, Harry Potter, traveller from the beyond."

"Welcome, Harry Potter, child who was promised to us," murmured one of the two women remaining by the cauldron. She was tall and thin, almost as much of both as Aunt Petunia, though she somehow contrived to wear it better, with a pale face and pale hair and a proud look.

"Welcome, Harry Potter, that shalt be king hereafter," all three women said as one, as the first woman, the one with Cassiopeia's eyes, reached out her hands to stroke his cheeks. Harry did not resist, though he did glance at Cassiopeia for a little help.

Cassiopeia smirked. "Harry, this is my mother, Bellatrix Lestrange. Mother…you didn't let me introduce him first."

"No need, daughter, no need," Bellatrix murmured. "But you have done well, to bring him here, to his true home."

"This isn't my home," Harry said softly.

"I've promised to take him back…to the muggles," Cassiopeia said, in what sound like a confessional tone. "But he'll come back and visit us again, won't you Harry?"

 _That depends,_ Harry thought, and said nothing.

For a moment, something flashed in Bellatrix's eyes. Anger? Disappointment? But then it was gone, as quickly as it had sprung into being. "Well…I suppose you may need time to become accustomed…you have done well regardless, Cassiopeia. You have my thanks."

"And mine, niece," said the woman with the proud look.

"Welcome, Harry," Bellatrix said again. "To the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. I am the mother of this coven, but to see you the mothers of two other covens have journeyed from far off to see you for themselves: this is my sister Narcissa, mother to her own coven, and this Allecto Carrow, herself a mother also." She indicated first the proud looking woman, and then the third woman, of a muscular build and a lumpy face, who nodded her head but said nothing. "They were as anxious to meet you as I was, and they will spread the word across our sisters."

"There are more of you?" Harry asked.

Bellatrix laughed. "Are there more of us? Of course there are, many of us, spread throughout this land and the lands beyond. We hide ourselves from the sight of muggles because we must, because if they knew of our existence they would persecute us."

"Hunt us," Narcissa said.

"Kill us if they could," Allecto said.

"Muggles hate what they fear, and they fear what they cannot control," Bellatrix continued.

"They should fear us," Allecto spat. "Our might is so great as to make them ants by comparison, why we-"

"Yes, thank you, sister Allecto," Bellatrix said quickly, as if she was somehow keen to stop her from speaking. "Why, the Black family were noble once, in England."

"A noble house in truth as well as in name," Druella said. "Possessed of wealth and lands and property. All taken from us."

"When it was discovered that we were of magic, the muggles turned on us, and drove us out," Cassiopeia. "They would have killed our ancestors, if they could, but since they were witches they escaped. But they lost everything."

"Our gold, our holdings, our titles of nobility," Druella said mournfully. "But most of all our honour. From amongst the highest of nobility we became no more than rootless exiles forced to flee across the sea."

"The same fate befell the Malfoys and the Lestranges," Narcissa moaned. "All lost everything and were forced into hiding by the jealousy and cruelty of muggles."

"If they found out we were here, we might be in grave danger, Harry," Cassiopeia said earnestly. "So it's important that you not tell anyone about us, not even the muggles that you live with. If they knew then they would come with fire and sticks and ropes and crosses and they would kill us all. None of them must know where to find us, do you understand?"

She was trembling with fear, her eyes wide and imploring. There was no way he could have refused her. "I promise," Harry said. "No one will hear about this from me."

Cassiopeia sighed with relief. "I knew I could trust you, Harry. I knew it, from the moment I saw you."

"Some of us live like this, in covens, in hidden places in the barren wilds," Bellatrix said. "Others live alone, hiding themselves amidst the muggles in their cities."

"Spreading misfortunes, disease and d-"

"Thank you, sister Allecto, we don't want to tell Harry so many things that he can't keep it all in his head now, do we?" Bellatrix said sharply. "Especially when there are so many things of greater import to discuss, such as the prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Harry said. "What prophecy?"

"The prophecy made many years ago," Druella whispered, her voice hoarse, and yet at the same time possessing an undisguisable eagerness. "The prophecy that will restore all our fortunes."

"The prophecy that a changeling, a child not of this world left amongst the muggles, would come and lead us out of darkness, and restore all that once was ours but now is lost to us," Narcissa declared.

"And put the filthy muggles in their righful-"

"Thank you, Allecto, sister dear," Bellatrix snarled, in a voice that suggested Allecto should shut up for the rest of the night if she knew what was good for her. She smiled at Harry. "Harry...you do not belong in this world, do you?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "No," he admitted.

"We felt your magic," Cassiopeia said. "When you apparated across the road, when you summoned your snake, we traced your use of magic and we were amazed, because we'd never felt you before."

"And so strong for your age, too," Narcissa said.

"And a parseltongue," Druella murmured. "A speaker unto snakes. Always a sign of the greatest of warlocks, the masters of the dark arts."

"But how am I supposed to lead anyone anywhere, when I don't even know where I am?" Harry asked. "You say I have magic, and maybe I do, but that doesn't mean that I know how to use it."

"You can be trained, of course," Bellatrix said. "And there is a test, to see if you are the one that we have longed for. If you are the one destined to bring magic out of the shadows and into the light, then you will be able to descend into the perilous realm of the fae and retrieve the Elder Wand, from where the Erlkoenig has it in his keeping."

Harry's eyes widened. "You want me to go where and get what from who?"

Cassiopeia laughed. "You don't have to go right away, Harry. You need training first. That's why you're here, so you can learn to control what you can do."

Bellatrix knelt before him, so that they were of a height. "Don't you want that, Harry? Don't you want to learn about what you are, what you can do, what you may become? Do you want to be fumbling in the dark for your whole life, blind and ignorant? Or would you rather master your potential so that you can, maybe, be a symbol of hope for all we poor, persecuted people."

Cassiopeia smiled. "It'll be fun, Harry, you'll love it. And you'll get to see more of me. Don't you want to give it a try?"

Harry found himself smiling back at her. "I can't really say no, can I?"

"That's the spirit," Bellatrix declared. "Now, let's get started."

For the next several hours, Harry did little but cast the spells that the witches instructed him in. They gave him a wand, a stick of wood like the one that Cassiopeia possessed, though Narcissa reminded him that once he retrieved the Elder Wand from the perilous realm he would capable of feats so much more extraordinary. He learned the wand-light spell that Cassiopeia had used, he learned how to summon objects, and how to send them flying away from him. He learned how to unlock doors, and how to make objects float. He learned how to disarm Cassiopeia of her wand, with a quick motion and the word 'expelliarmus'.

And he learned other things as well. He learned how make someone's hand, or arm, or knee sting, he learned how to make them break out in boils, or hives, or spots. He learned how to make their teeth grow to enormous length, how to rob people of their voices, even how to hang them upside down by their ankles.

"Why are you teaching me so many different ways to hurt people?" Harry asked.

Cassiopeia laughed. "Hurt people? You think that this is hurting people. Come on, Harry, this is just...these spells are just harmless pranks, that's all. What's a bit of hanging upside down between friends? I've not got upset once about all these spells you've cast on me, have I?"

Harry had to admit that that was true. He had tested almost all of the new spells that the witches had taught him on Cassiopeia, subjected her face to numerous deforming indignities, even hung her upside down, and she had seemed to bear him no malice for it. Yes, her mother and Narcissa had always undone the damage quickly, but still...she had almost seemed to enjoy being hung upside down, with her blonde hair spilling down to the ground, laughing as though it were all a game. He supposed it was a game really.

 _A game because you are all safe in this coven, with her mother and her aunt close by,_ a voice inside of him that might have been Harry's conscience, whispered to him. _Would it be such great fun if you two were alone, with no one to undo what you had done?_

Harry frowned. "So they're pranks, then...not very useful, is it?"

"I wouldn't say that," Cassiopeia said. "I think they can be very useful sometimes. Well, levicorpus maybe not, but the others certainly."

"When?"

"To protect yourself," Cassiopeia said. "Or to get back at someone that's wronged you. A muggle, perhaps."

"But that's not fair," Harry protested. "Muggles don't have any way of protecting themselves against magic."

"Fair?" Cassiopeia demanded. "There's nothing fair about the way they've treated us, is there?" Her tone softened. "But we aren't bullies, Harry. I'd hate for you to think that we went around hexing muggles just because we could. We don't, of course. That might cause our secret to be found out...besides being wrong, obviously. No, but...there are times, when someone deserves it. I'm sure you know someone who deserves a hex or two."

"I used to," Harry murmured, thinking about Dudley and his gang. It would have been nice, he supposed, to have made them hurt for once."

"With magic, you can treat people exactly as they deserve," Cassiopeia declared. "Now, we should keep practicing."

They practiced for hours, and Harry felt exhausted by the time that Cassiopeia summoned her broom to her, and announced that she was taking him home. The flight back was somewhere between her initial roaring speed, and their later gentle glide, but Harry barely noticed because he felt so bone tired from all the paces they'd been putting him through. There were times when he almost fell asleep, head resting on Cassiopeia's shoulder like a pillow, and only her giggling over the fact woke him up again. He was fairly sure that he had fallen asleep more than once by the time that, with the first rays of dawn climbing over the horizon, they arrived back at Cinderella's chateau.

"There, back just as I promised," Cassiopeia said. "I'll come back and see you-"

"There you are, Harry."

Harry whirled around. There, beside his bed, clad in a shapeless white nightgown with a little blue bow hanging from the collar, stood Cinderella. In one hand she held a burning candle; in the other, sitting on her upturned palm, was a brown mouse with an unusually human build. The light from the candle was dim, it had almost burned itself out, and in the darkness Cinderella's blue eyes seemed brighter than ever.

"Cinderella," Harry murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Cinderella said. "What were you doing not here? Jaq told me that he'd seen you jump out the window. I didn't believe it, but I came up here and you were gone! Where have you been, I've been so worried about you?"

Behind him, Harry heard Cassiopeia climb in through the window. The sound of her movements alone acted as a reminder of his promise. "I can't tell you."

Cinderella's eyes narrowed. "You can't or you won't?"

"I made a promise," Harry said.

"A promise? A promise to who?"

"Why don't you stop prying into other people's business, muggle," Cassiopeia snapped, her voice high and cold in a manner that Harry had not heard before that night.

"What did you call me?" Cinderella demanded.

"Muggle," Cassiopeia repeated, as though to a slow-witted child. "I can't believe you wanted to come back here to her, Harry."

Cinderella's eyes widened. "Who are you, and what were you doing with Harry all night?"

"Why?" Cassiopeia asked, sounding contemptuously amused. "Are you jealous?"

Cinderella made a noise that was half snort, half squeak and all annoyance. "How dare you-"

Cassiopeia rolled her eyes. "Boring." She raised her wand and pointed it at Cinderella. "Silencio!"

Cinderella's mouth kept working furiously, with no sound emerging from beyond her lips, before she seemed to realise that she could not hear herself speak. She stopped. Her mouth moved again. No sound emerged. Her blue eyes widened in alarm and she seemed to be yelling or screaming...but there was still no sound.

"There," Cassiopeia murmured, a smirk playing across her face. "Much better."

Harry rounded on her, a fierce scowl upon his face as an inferno of anger began to blaze within him. "What did you do?"

Cassiopeia shrugged. "I just quietened her down, that's all."

"Why?" Harry demanded, in a voice like ice.

"Because..." Cassiopeia hesitated. She seemed to notice his anger, and she shrank back before it, retreating towards the window and hunching to make herself seem smaller. "Because she was annoying me."

"So?"

"So..." Cassiopeia licked her lips. "Harry, she's only a muggle."

Harry let out a wordless growl, and Cassiopeia cried out as she doubled over, her wand nearly slipping from her grasp as she clutched at her stomach.

She looked up at him, with eyes like a wounded doe. "Nonverbal wandless magic. That's impressive, Harry."

"Undo what you did," Harry demanded. "And then go."

Cassiopeia nodded rapidly. "Yes. Yes of course." She raised her wand in one trembling hand. "Finite Incantatem."

"-to me!" Cinderella cried. She gasped. "I can-"

"Obliviate!"

The bolt hit Cinderella between the eyes, which instantly became unfocussed, as though she had been hit on the head.

Cassiopeia raised one hand as Harry rounded on her again. "I only wiped her memory of the last few minutes, long enough so that she won't remember me...or what I did. You'll still need to excuse yourself, but you won't tell, will you?"

Harry shook his head. "I keep my promises."

"I thought you would," Cassiopeia said, as she climbed onto her broom. "I'll see you soon, Harry, you're even more interesting than I thought." She leapt from the window, and Harry could just about see her as she flew away, a silhouette against the lightening sky.

"Harry," Cinderella murmured.

Harry rushed to her side, taking the candle from her hand and setting it down beside the bed. The mouse - Jaq, he supposed - leapt from her open palm as Harry took her hands in his own. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Yes, I'm fine, I'm just a little..." Cinderella paused. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "I came in, and found you waiting for me."

Jaq began to squeak, and Harry remembered both that Cinderella could speak to mice and that Cassiopeia, not knowing that, had not wiped his memories. Fortunately, before he could get much more than a squeak out, Hector emerged from the tangled bedclothes to hiss menacingly as he circled around the smaller creature.

 _"Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."_

"Hmm...Jaq? Did you say something?" Cinderella asked.

Jaq shook his head frantically as Hector continued to circle and hiss.

Cinderella looked up at Harry. "Where have you been, Harry? I've been so worried."

Harry shrugged. "I just went out, that's all."

"In the middle of the night? Why?"

"To practice my magic, where no one would see," Harry said, since it was close to the truth without revealing any of the secrets he had promised to keep secret.

"All alone, in the dark?" Cinderella asked. "Why would you do something like that, it's dangerous!"

"Because I wanted to find out what I could do," Harry said.

"And did you?"

Harry nodded. "A bit, yes."

Cinderella looked down. "So I suppose you're going to do it again, then?"

"Maybe," Harry replied. He thought back to Cassiopeia. "Probably."

"Well...I suppose at least I'll know next time." Cinderella squeezed his hands,and looked up at him with pleading in her eyes. "But be careful. You will be careful, won't you? I was so worried. I don't want you to get hurt."

Harry...Harry didn't know what to say...he had never felt... "I don't remember anyone apart from you ever worrying about me before."

"Is that why you left?" Cinderella demanded. "Because you thought I didn't care?"

"No, it..." Harry smiled. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Alright," Cinderella murmured. "I suppose we'd better get back to bed while we can, hadn't we?"

Harry chuckled. "I suppose so."

"Goodnight Harry."

"Goodnight, Cinderella."

 _Author's Note: Some readers may wonder why, having brought Harry Potter into a new world, I've then introduced so many Harry Potter characters (with a few more yet to come). The answer is: because the alternative would be to introduce a whole load of OCs, and since you're reading a Harry Potter crossover, I thought you'd prefer it this way._

 _The only point against using them is the metatextual aspect: you probably guessed that the witches were not exactly on the side of the angels the moment Cassiopeia turned up dressed in Slytherin colours and announced that she was called Lestrange…but then, you probably would have worked out they weren't so nice soon enough anyway on the contents of this chapter._

 _One of the things I want to do with the magic plot is bring in some sort of fairytale/folkloric elements alongside the Harry Potter stuff, like the Erlkoenig and a slightly satanic air surrounding magic. You'll see that play out later on._

 _Four chapters in, and this has been pretty much Harry's story so far. Next chapter will be Cinderella' POV and move into the Cinderella storyline a bit more. My intention is that these early chapters will take the story to around the death of Cinderella's father, then timeskip to around the time of the main movie._


	5. First Impressions

First Impressions

Cinderella's boots tapped on the boards of the wooden staircase as she climbed up the winding tower towards Harry's room. It was strange, she was nervous but she couldn't think why. It was only Harry, after all.

Perhaps it was that snake of his that was making her nervous? No, that wasn't it, or she would have been able to understand her own feelings, which she did not. It was as though she was aware of something, in the corner of her eye, but whenever she turned to look at it it skittered out of sight.

Jaq knew something about it, she was sure, but he wouldn't tell her. Cinderella didn't understand that either.

Cinderella shook her head. She was being ridiculous, if there was no reason for her to feel nervous then there was no reason for her to feel nervous and, well, there was no reason for her to feel nervous. She needed to stop wasting time and just get on with it. The only thing up in that room was her friend Harry, and she would never need to be scared or nervous of him. But she did need to get him out of bed, he couldn't afford to sleep in today.

So she continued to climb up the steps, her boots tapping upon the wood no matter how lightly she trod the boards, and she wondered if the sound of her approach would wake Harry up. Probably not, he was proving to be a very heavy sleeper.

Either that or he was just exhausting himself at night.

Cinderella's brow furrowed ever so slightly. If Harry wanted to understand the power that he had better, if he wanted to learn to use his, his magic, then that was fine. If it made him happy, then Cinderella was happy too. But surely there had to be a way of doing it that didn't leave him so shattered. He was wearing himself out, and she was worried that he would become ill. She would have felt a lot better if he hadn't been alone in his practice, but when she had offered to go with him and keep an eye on him he had refused. He had refused gently, but he had refused nonetheless. Harry said that he didn't want her to catch a chill, which was sweet of him, but she wished he would have shown the same concern for himself.

As it was, she didn't even know where he went to practice his magic. She had considered asking her mice to follow him, but in the end had decided it against it: first, because the mice were her friends, not her servants, and it would have been wrong to put them to work for her advantage like that; second, because was her friend too and if he wanted to be alone then she should let him; and third, because she was rather afraid that his snake would eat any spies that he caught.

 _Why couldn't he have had a nice pet?_ she wondered.

Cinderella reached the top of the staircase, and walked softly but quickly into the tower room that Harry occupied. As she had expected, he was asleep, sprawled across his bed with the covers thrown hastily on top of him, his messy hair covering his forehead and his snake coiled up on his chest. Hector awoke as Cinderella drew near, fixing her with his black eyed gaze as a breathless hiss escaped him.

Cinderella froze. Her mother had said that there was good in everyone and everything, and Cinderella tried to go through her life with that in mind, but even so it was hard for her not to want to recoil from that snake. It was...it was a snake, it ate mice and little birds, too. She didn't know why Harry liked the creature.

But thankfully, Hector did not hiss at her, or lunge at her or try to bite her. In fact he seemed to nod at her, then crawled off Harry's chest and slithered down off the bed, across the floor and into one of the mouse-holes.

 _I hope they stay away from him,_ Cinderella thought.

She walked to the very edge of Harry's bedside and stood looking down on him. His eyes were closed, hiding his bright green orbs from view. He was so thin, even thinner than she was, and though it didn't seem so bad when he was awake and moving when she saw him still and sleeping it, it made him look so frail. His dark hair fell messily around him, mostly covering the lightning bolt mark on his forehead. He was...he looked...looking at him made Cinderella feel happy, feel glad that he was here.

She reached out, and with one gentle hand she brushed a little of his fringe of black hair.

"Harry," Cinderella said softly. "Harry, wake up."

Harry's bright green eyes - they really did look very nice - flickered open as he stirred to wakefulness. "Cinderella," he murmured, his eyes sweeping her up and down. "You're dressed already, again. Have I been asleep so long."

Cinderella giggled. "That's what you get when you spend all your nights out doing magic." She took a step back, taking the folds of her lavender skirt in her fingertips and spreading it out as she twirled on her toe. "What do you think?"

Her skirt was a dark lavender, with a simple pattern of white lace running around the hem, with a pink blouse with more lace at the collar, along with a black ribbon tied into a bow just beneath. A black sash, tied into a bow at the back of her waist, separated skirt and blouse and constricted her waistline, matching the black hairband restraining her blonde locks, with another bow resting on top of her head. Her grey boots, buttoned up along the sides, were tight around her feet and calves, and only a glimpse of her stockings were visible underneath her skirt.

Harry sat up, and smiled at her. He had a very nice smile, really. It…it made his eyes light up, and his face…he had a very nice smile.

"I think you don't need me to tell you how nice you look."

Cinderella chuckled. "Maybe not, but a gentleman would compliment me anyway."

"Then you look very nice."

"Thank you, Harry," Cinderella said. "Now, you'd better get up and get dressed quickly."

"Why?" Harry said, throwing off the covers of his bed. "You're dressed up, is something happening."

"You could say that," Cinderella said. She found that she couldn't quite say what needed to be said while looking Harry in the eye, so she looked away and said, "Papa's going to ask you to go into town for him today, and run some errands."

"Alright," Harry said. "But why do you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Your tone makes it sound like a bad thing."

Cinderella frowned for a moment, and played with her hands, fiddling with them against the front of her skirt. "Papa…Papa would like you out of the house for the day, or for a few hours anyway."

Harry got up out of bed. "Why? Have I done something wrong?"

"No!" Cinderella said sharply. "No, you haven't done anything wrong, and I love having you here, but…oh, I don't know how to say it."

Harry reached out, and grabbed her hand. "Just say it. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Cinderella looked into his eyes, and said, "There's a woman coming to our house today, a woman and her daughters. Papa wants her to be my new mother."

Harry frowned. "I…um…what?"

"He wants to marry her, I think," Cinderella said. "And it's because he wants me to have a mother again, and sisters, too, but…I'm not sure that I want either of those things. Papa thinks…but I'm happy the way things are, with Papa and me, and now you. I'm happy. I don't think we need anyone else. But Papa doesn't agree."

Harry hesitated. "I…I don't know what you want me to say?"

"Neither do I," Cinderella replied. "But…but that's why Papa wants you out of the house. He doesn't want Lady de Treville to get the wrong idea about…"

"About her needing to be a mother to me as well?" Harry asked.

Cinderella nodded. "I know it isn't fair but-"

"It's okay," Harry said. "Really, it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded. "I understand."

Cinderella flung her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "Thank you, Harry. Oh, I hope she's alright."

She felt Harry's arms wrap around her. "I'm sure…I'm sure you'll love her."

* * *

Cinderella wasn't allowed to watch Harry go. Papa kept her in the drawing room while Harry washed, dressed and was sent on his way so as to be out of the house when Lady de Treville and her daughters arrived. So she sat upon one of the sofas, her legs tucked up beneath her, reading a book while she waited.

"I do not do this to be cruel to the boy, Cinderella," Papa said.

"I know," Cinderella murmured.

"I merely do not wish to alarm Eloise, or upset her," Papa continued. "So…Cinderella it would be best if you did mention your game with those rodents."

Cinderella looked up. "It's not a game, Papa."

"It is," Papa insisted. "One that you should have abandoned long ago. Talking to mice and birds… it is not natural. It is not normal. You should have friends your own age."

"I have Harry."

"Friends your own age and class," Papa stressed.

"If anyone wished to be my friend I would be happy to oblige them," Cinderella replied, a touch of frost in her voice. It wasn't her fault that the girls wear jealous of her, and told stories about her, just like it wasn't her fault and even the nicest boys thought she was odd just because she could talk to animals.

Papa frowned, and tugged at his moustache. "Cinderella, please…I only want to make sure that you are well looked after. Everything that I do…I do because I love you."

Cinderella smiled. "I know, Papa. I really do. I'm sorry if I sometimes seem ungrateful."

Papa chuckled. "Be polite for Lady de Treville, won't you?"

"I'm always polite," Cinderella said indignantly.

"Yes, indeed you are, my young lady," Papa said jovially. "And if you keep it up, and are kind to Anastasia and Drizella, then I am sure that Eloise will take you to her heart."

"I do hope so, Papa," Cinderella replied. It was…not quite a lie, she told herself, but then it was not quite true either. She did not want to upset Papa, and she certainly didn't intend to go out of her way to be rude to a woman who had done her no harm…but she wasn't sure that she wanted her to stay either. She didn't particularly want a new mother. Her memories of her own mother were few, she had to admit, but she had some: a beautiful women in a pink dress, smiling down at her, laughing as a baby's hands reached up and grabbed her burnt orange hair. She remembered mother pushing her on a swing, reading to her under the weeping willow tree, she remembered…she remembered how kind she was. She wasn't sure she wanted anyone to replace that, even if they could. She didn't want those memories to be replaced by someone else.

Cinderella heard Papa sigh, and looked up at him as he sat down at the piano, hands folded, waiting. He looked so stiff, so formal, all dressed up in his frock coat, with his waistcoat and his gold hunter on a fob. And his face…he looked so sad, and so lonely.

Cinderella considered, with a feeling like cold water pouring down her back, that she had been monstrously selfish. Papa may have talked about her need for a mother, but was it possible that he needed a wife as well.

"Are you sad, Papa?" Cinderella asked. "Are you lonely?"

He stared at her, as though he could not understand the question. "Why should I be either of those things, Cinderella, when I have you?"

 _But you are,_ Cinderella thought. _You are both those things, aren't you?_

"Have you met Lady de Treville before?"

"Yes, if only briefly," Papa said.

"Do you love her?"

Papa chuckled. "So young, to talk thus. Eloise, Lady de Treville, is a most excellent lady."

Cinderella frowned. "You didn't answer my question."

"No," Papa said. "I did not."

Before Cinderella could press him on the matter, she heard the sound of a carriage coming closer, the hooves of the horse clip-clopping upon the cobbles as it passed through the gates.

"Here they are," Papa cried, rising from his seat. "Remember: be kind and courteous, and nothing about mice and birds."

"I will remember, Papa," Cinderella said, deciding not to remind him that she was always kind and courteous."

Papa led the way out of the drawing room and down the stairs, his feet echoing upon the steps of polished stone. Cinderella followed, holding her skirt out so as not to trip over it, taking her place not far from the door as Papa opened the portal.

"Nicholas, how wonderful to see you again," a woman's voice declared, deep and rich and resonant. "So good of you to invite us all to visit you."

"Lady de Treville," Papa said, bowing from the waist. "Please come in."

Lady de Treville swept into the house. She was tall, taller than Papa, even, seeming even taller thanks to her bouffant head of dark grey hair, with a single streak of white running through it. Her nose was sharp, and her chin too, and her face was lined with age. Despite that, she seemed rather handsome as she strode into the house, dressed in a modest gown of rich, dark red, with a ruby glistening around her throat. Her eyes were green, but they didn't seem as warm as Harry's…no, Cinderella dismissed that thought, that was cruel of her. She was resolved to be kind.

"Such a house," she said, casting her green-eyed gaze around the room. "Modest, true, but perfectly proportioned."

"You are welcome to it," Papa said, taking her hand to kiss it. Cinderella saw that she was wearing a jade ring upon her finger. "You yourself look beautiful, m'lady."

Lady de Treville laughed. "Oh, sir, flattery should not be baseless, lest it be revealed as flattery."

"What flattery do you speak of?"

"You are too kind by far."

"On the contrary, m'lady, I do not go far enough," Papa said. "Allow me to present my daughter, Cinderella."

As Lady de Treville's eyes fell on her, Cinderella curtsied perfectly. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady de Treville."

"Oh! What a lovely, charming girl you have," Lady de Treville cried. "Oh, you must meet my girls. Anastasia! Drizella! Come in, girls, both of you, don't dawdle outside."

Two girls, about Cinderella's age, shuffled inside the house. They both looked…well…they were…some people couldn't help it. And they did look very awkward and uncertain, regardless of how they…looked. It was almost as if they were afraid or something.

"These are my daughters," Lady de Treville said. "Anastasia and Drizella."

Anastasia had red hair, worn in curls; Drizella had dark hair with a ribbon in it. Anastasia was dressed in red, and Drizella in green.

"Delighted to meet you both, my dears," Papa said, kneeling down. "My name is Nicholas Tremaine."

"Good morning, sir," Anastasia murmured, with a clumsy curtsy.

"Girls, this is Lord Nicholas' daughter, Cinderella," Lady de Treville said.

"Hello," Cinderella said brightly.

Neither one of them replied. In fact both regarded her with such wariness and suspicion that the smile faded from Cinderella's face.

"Girls, girls, where are you manners?" Lady de Treville demanded. "Say hello to Cinderella."

"Hello," Drizella said. "I like your dress."

Cinderella's smile returned swiftly. "Do you? Do you really? It is lovely, isn't it?" she spun briefly for her admiring audience, prompting a brief round of applause from Lady de Treville.

"I think it would suit me," Drizella said.

"I…yes, it probably would," Cinderella said, recovering after being briefly wrong-footed by the remark. "Yes, it would, don't you think so, Anastasia?"

Anastasia sniffed. "Perhaps."

Papa coughed. "Cinderella, why don't you take Anastasia and Drizella to play, while I entertain Lady de Treville?"

"An excellent idea," Lady de Treville declared. "Lead on, Nicholas."

"Come, my lady, I shall show you some more of the house."

"I'd be delighted.

As they left, Cinderella gestured for Anastasia and Drizella to come with her. "Would you like to see the garden, it's very pretty."

"I suppose so," Anastasia said.

"I'd like to see it," Drizella declared.

"Really?"

"Of course," she said. "I have a feeling we're going to be right at home here."


End file.
